


Blackbird

by searchingwardrobes



Series: Fandom Birthday Playlist [8]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Captain Cobra - Freeform, F/M, Fluff, Killian as a bookstore owner, Killian as an artist, References to the Beatles, Song Lyrics, single mom emma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-14 01:27:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18042845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/searchingwardrobes/pseuds/searchingwardrobes
Summary: Magical Mystery Books is your stereotypical quirky bookstore. Killian Jones, however, is not your typical quirky bookstore owner. Neither are the dark yet beautiful pieces of art that hang over the cash register.





	Blackbird

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shireness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shireness/gifts).



> Happy birthday, @shireness-says! I have so enjoyed all of our chats during the cssns about our love for the Brothers Jones, Frozen Jewel, and Captain Cobra. You write all of those so well, but I tried to give you some quality Captain Cobra for your birthday nonetheless along with a fic that sums up your love of art and books. I hope you like it and that your day has been awesome! It is of course, based on the Beatles song “Blackbird” which I think both Killian and Emma could relate to.

Henry was the one who found it; the quirky bookstore called Magical Mystery Books. It was one of those eclectic places with every genre imaginable from out of print gothic hardback s  to bestselling paperbacks to edgy graphic novels. Just like one would expect, it was crowded with volumes from floor to ceiling. Yet contrary to stereotype, it wasn’t messy. The place was not only immaculately clean but organized by genre and carefully alphabetized. 

Yet exactly according to stereotype there was also the store owner and his one faithful employee who could find what you were looking for even with a vague description. However, defying stereotype, said store owner was not an eccentric old lady with a cat. Oh no, he was far from that. 

Okay, Emma Swan had to admit, maybe slightly eccentric. But he was male and definitely not old. Neither was he a bookish looking fellow with a tweed coat and an awkward stammer. Though he did occasionally whip out a pair of black framed reading glasses. 

No, Killian Jones did not look like a book store owner with his leather motorcycle jacket, his pierced ear, and his distractedly tight jeans. The kids loved to come to the book store for the great YA selection and vintage comics. The adults came to ogle the store’s owner. Or perhaps his lone employee Belle with her high heels, fashionable skirts, and perfect, wavy auburn hair. 

Emma, however, came for her son. Henry swore that no other store had a better fantasy or sci fi collection, and once Henry had exhausted all of those, Mr. Jones gladly supplied him with more obscure recommendations. Both Jones and Belle adored Henry, a rare ten-year-old who stood in rapt fascination at their collection of original illustrations by Maurice Sendak and E.H. Shepherd which were under glass in the children’s section with a sign that read “not for sale.” They had once belonged to Belle’s mother, a dedicated bibliophile herself.  Henry even soaked up stories Belle told about how her mother risked death in a house fire to save the illustrations. 

“That boy will be a writer someday,” Killian commented to Emma as he rang up her purchases one afternoon. 

The boy in question was poring over an Avengers comic protected by plastic circa 1969. She hoped he had noticed how many digits were on that price tag.

“He certainly has enough notebooks full of stories to publish one day.” Emma couldn’t help  the  mom brag. She certainly hadn’t expected to luck out with a kid like Henry the day she held that pregnancy test in her trembling hand at nineteen. 

“Aye, he’s told me. I said I’d like to read them, but he wouldn’t hear of it.”

“Don’t take it personally,” Emma assured Killian, “he won’t let me read them either.”

“Someday perhaps.”

Emma took the bag of paperbacks that hung from Killian’s prosthetic. She had never asked how he lost his left hand; she honestly didn’t know how one went about broaching such subjects. Henry didn’t know either, though Belle had alluded to some sort of accident when Killian was in the navy. 

She thanked him, but before she turned to go, she noticed something new hanging above the register. It was mixed media art; a painting combined with some sort of collage technique. It was a dark painting with an outline of a bird done in such muted grays it almost blended into the background. Yet the collage technique gave the bird texture and a sense of movement. A quote was woven through the dark background: “Blackbird singing in the dead of night.”

“Beatles?” Emma asked, gesturing over his shoulder.

He smiled at her, but not the cocky one he gave to flirtatious customers. This one was more 

genuine.   “Know that song?”

Emma smiled in return. “My favorite Beatles song, actually.”

“Mine too.”

Emma shuffled her feet, something about his smile making prickles of nerves skitter across the back of her neck. “Well, I guess I see why you liked the painting then. And it makes the bookstore name make more sense. Then again you are British . . . “

She trailed off when she realized she was rambling.

“Ah, and all British people  _ must  _ like the Beatles.”

“Well, no, I mean – I didn’t mean -”

He laughed and waved his hand to dismiss her discomfort. “No offense taken, love.”

Face burning, Emma grabbed Henry and left as quickly as she could. It was easier when he focused all his attention on her son. 

******************************************************

Henry had gotten to that age when he was suddenly harder to buy for. Most kids his age wanted electronics, and while she had saved up for a video game system last Christmas, most stuff was out of her price range. Thank God her kid liked books. 

Of course, figuring out what he would like and what he hadn’t already read wasn’t easy. Hence why she was at Magical Mystery Books while Henry was at school. It wasn’t until she turned down an aisle to find Killian Jones with his ass literally in her face that it occurred to her she’d never been here without her son as a buffer. Jones was atop a rolling ladder shelving books on the top shelf, hence why his ass was at eye level. She noticed a bit of his abs as his shirt hitched up, and she averted her gaze as her cheeks burned. What was her problem? It wasn’t as if she’d never seen a man’s . . . er, assets before. 

Emma took a few steps back before clearing her throat to announce her presence. When he turned and saw her, he gave her that same grin again. The one that made his laugh lines crinkle and his cheeks dimple. The one that made her skin buzz like a live wire. 

“Emma! It’s nice to see you here at this time of day. Let me guess, you’re looking for a gift for your lad.”

Emma arched her brows. “How’d you know that?”

He shrugged as he turned and headed down the sci fi aisle. “Well, time of day, plus Henry mentioned he had a birthday coming up.” He stopped, ran his fingertip along the bindings before him, then pulled out a slender volume.

“ _ A Wrinkle in Time _ ?” Emma asked incredulously.

Killian nodded. “He said he’d never read it because it’s a ‘girl’s book’.”

Emma had to giggle at his eye roll and air quotes.

“I told him he’d miss out on way too many books with that narrow mindset.”

Emma’s brow wrinkled, unsure. “But the movie sucked.”

Killian staggered backwards, his hand to his heart. “Swan please, my heart can’t take it.”

Emma shook her head, laughing fully now. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re melodramatic?”

“Constantly,’ he told her with a wink.

Killian rang up  _ A Wrinkle in Time  _ along with another selection he said Henry had been eyeing last time he was there. It was something from the late 50s called  _ Have Space Suit – Will Travel  _ and had a cover that looked awfully sci-fi theater kitschy to Emma, but she decided to trust Killian’s suggestions. After all, when it came to this fantasy and sci-fi stuff, Emma was completely lost. 

Emma paused once again when taking her bag. A new painting was above the cash register, in the same mixed media genre as the previous one. It was still mostly dark and featured a textured bird, yet this time there was a tiny ray of bright colors in the top right corner. The bird’s wings were outstretched this time, one of them bent and crooked. This time the words “Take these broken wings and learn to fly” seemed to stretch towards the light. It took Emma’s breath away. Without tearing her eyes away from it, she spoke to Killian.

“It’s . . . sad, but beautiful.”

“Aye,” he told her softly as he gave her the receipt, “some of the most breathtaking things are a little sad. Wouldn’t you say?”

She looked away from the painting and into his sparkling blue eyes, and she had the strangest feeling they were talking about two different things. 

As she took the receipt, her eyes were drawn to his prosthetic and she realized – the bird’s left wing was the one that was broken. 

******************************************************

Emma was tucked into a leather wingback chair in the romance section of Magical Mystery Books (something Killian had already teased her about, to which she had retorted that it was either this or force her hips into the bright yellow Curious George chair in the children’s section) answering one last email for work. She could hear Killian and Henry having a heated debate in the YA lit section.

“- but there should be hope after a writer puts you through all that pain!”

“But dystopian lit is about commenting on social ills, is it not? Her whole point was the senselessness of war,” Killian retorted. 

Emma shook her head and smiled as she hit send on her email.

“But saving Prim was supposed to be the whole point!”

Emma frowned. Henry had taken the ending of that trilogy way too hard. So hard it had worried her a little. She kicked herself now for letting him read them; he was probably too young. 

“And  thus  the senseless part.” Killian always  interacted  with Henry with the utmost respect, never talking down to him. 

“I still threw that third book against the wall,” she heard Henry mutter.

Killian laughed heartily. “Aye, I confess I did too. And not just over Prim.”

“Finn?”

“God yes, that pissed me off.”

She heard both of them grumbling in agreement at Suzanne Collin’s plot choices, and a huge smile broke out on her face. She pushed herself off the chair and headed towards them. Henry was perched on a stool, a notebook in his lap as he scribbled with a pencil. Killian was next to him shelving books from a cart. 

“Hey, Mom! This book report on  _ Mockingjay  _ is going to be so good thanks to Killian.” Henry shot him a glance. “Even though we sort of disagree a little.”

“On the contrary,” Killian countered, ruffling her son’s hair. If it made her ovaries quiver, that was only because she’d been a single mom for ten years. Ten long years. “I happen to agree wholeheartedly. I was just trying to help you see another point of view.”

“Ready kid?” Emma asked as her son stuffed his notebook into his backpack.

“Yeah, Mom.”

Emma frowned as she watched Killian make his way behind the counter. “I’m sorry we just came here to bug you for homework help. We didn’t even buy anything.”

Killian leaned his arms on the counter, and Emma couldn’t take her eyes off how his muscles filled out his button-down shirt. He’d rolled his sleeves up, revealing the dark hair on his arms as well as where his left arm met his prosthetic hand. Emma wondered if it ever made him self- conscious . She hoped it didn’t, at least not around them. 

“Anything for my best customers,” he told them, winking at Emma.

Her eyes flickered nervously away from his, and that was when she saw the newest painting. “All your life you were merely waiting for this moment to be free” it said this time. The work, part painting and part collage, was still dark like the other two, but the light in the right corner was bigger. But the most striking part was that the blackbird was no longer alone, there was now a white bird in the painting as well, and the collage work on it was breathtaking, as if it really had feathers. 

“It’s a swan.”

Emma’s gaze swung to meet Killian’s. His eyes were searching her face intently, and suddenly the breath left her lungs. Without another word, she grabbed Henry by the arm and hurried them both from the bookstore.

*******************************************************

Emma hadn’t realized how often they had been going to the bookstore until she suddenly could no longer face its owner. Three weeks had passed, and Henry was now almost daily asking to go to Magical Mystery Books the second she picked him up from school. And every single time, she gave him a flimsy excuse not to. 

“What did Killian do?” Henry finally demanded.

“What in the world are you talking about kid?”

Henry rolled his eyes. “Please, Mom. That has to be it. Did he try to kiss you or something?”

Emma almost collided with the car in front of her. “Why the hell would you ask that?”

Henry shrugged. “Because he likes you.”

Emma had no idea what to say as she gripped the steering wheel tighter.

“I wouldn’t mind you know,” Henry finally said. “If you dated him, I mean.”

Emma blinked in shock at her son. 

“When did you get so smart?”

He grinned in a way that he definitely picked up from Killian. “When I started hanging out at a bookstore.”

*************************************************

Emma marched into Magical Mystery Books the next morning and headed right to the front counter. Killian was there doing something at the register, and his eyes widened in surprise when he saw her. Whether that was because he hadn’t seen her in over three weeks or because she looked like a woman on some kind of mission, she wasn’t sure. 

She crossed her arms over her chest as she scrutinized the painting over his shoulder. The dark background in this one was now littered with stars, the blackbird swooping down through them, straining towards a white swan that floated on a pond with a glittering reflection of the stars upon their surface. Her (she assumed it was a female swan, anyway) neck was bent away from the blackbird. “Into the light of the cold dark night” it said.

“Did you paint those?”

She saw Killian’s  adam’s  apple bob as if he wasn’t sure if she was asking or beginning an interrogation, but he lifted his gaze to meet hers anyway. 

“Aye.”

She nodded. “Okay then.”

He yelped when she yanked him over the counter towards her, and his eyes were still opened when she crashed her lips into his. Soon, however, he was kissing her back, his hand threading her hair, his tongue seeking entrance. She gave it to him, her own hands releasing his shirt front to find their way into his hair. It was hungry and frantic, with teeth clashing and lips bruising. She started to pull back, only to dive in for more again. She was half tempted to scramble over the counter, his kiss so intoxicating it made her want every part of him. Finally, they were both panting, foreheads pressed together. 

“That - “ he gasped.

“Would have been a lot better without this stupid counter between us.”

He laughed as he traced her jaw, but then his blue eyes went a shade darker with lust. “Then get over here,” he growled. 

In his next painting, the blackbird was floating in the water, the swan’s neck bent over his. 

_ Blackbird fly into the light of the dark black night. _


End file.
